


Nana

by performativezippers



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: AU Meeting, Alternate Universe, F/F, Nana and Lulu, sanvers meet cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:00:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24814954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/performativezippers/pseuds/performativezippers
Summary: Maggie peers into the crack, and it’s just as she thought. There’s a little girl there, not more than three years old. She’s Black, or maybe biracial. Her hair is puffed out in an adorable small little afro, contained at her hairline with a sweet red headband. She’s wearing orange shorts and a bright blue tshirt with rocket ships on it. Her shoes look like they might light up, but it’s hard to tell, because the kid is currently floating about a foot off the ground.aka, not quite the kidfic it sounds like
Relationships: Alex Danvers/Maggie Sawyer
Comments: 218
Kudos: 512





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just three short chapters to this one

Maggie’s walking through the almost deserted outdoor mall. It’s just a few minutes until closing, and she’d been in a rush to return a sweater after her shift, before the store closed. She’s striding back to her car, consumed with thoughts of what she’s going to make for dinner—or maybe she’ll treat herself to something from that new Greek place with the great gyros—when she hears something move behind one of the closed-up kiosks.

It’s been a while since she was on patrol, but she’d recognize the sound of a lost kid at 50 paces.

The kiosk has been pushed over to the side, so there’s just a sliver of space between the wall and the sunglasses cart. The perfect place for tiny, terrified person to curl up and not be found.

Maggie eases her badge out of her bag and, as slowly as she can, makes her way over.

She peers into the crack, and it’s just as she thought. There’s a little girl there, not more than three years old. She’s Black, or maybe biracial. Her hair is puffed out in an adorable small little afro, contained at her hairline with a sweet red headband. She’s wearing orange shorts and a bright blue tshirt with rocket ships on it. Her shoes look like they might light up, but it’s hard to tell, because the kid is currently floating about a foot off the ground.

She’s curled up, her knees tucked into her chest, and she’s crying—all midair. It’s like she folded in on herself on the ground and then levitated.

Well, Maggie’s seen weirder shit. Although, possibly not on a cuter subject.

“Hi,” she says, her voice as soft and friendly as she can make it.

The girl still startles, dropping several inches in her surprise. Maggie darts out her hands, but the girl levels off, and Maggie doesn’t want to grab her and scare her, so she quickly pulls them back.

“My name is Maggie,” she says. “I’m a police officer. My job is to help people. Do you need help?”

The girl looks over at her. Her eyes are big and wide, and she is positively the cutest child Maggie’s ever seen in her life. “I don’t talk to strangers,” she says in her piping high voice, thick with tears.

Maggie eases herself down on her knees, closer to eye level. The girl is still a few inches above the ground, but not nearly as high as she was at first. “That’s really smart,” Maggie tells her. “But I promise, I’m a good guy. I’m just here to help. That’s my job.”

The girl blinks at her, saying nothing. She’s well trained, that’s for sure.

“Did you know that police officers have badges? A badge is like—”

But the girl interrupts her. “I _know_. A badge is a special name tag. My nana has one.”

Maggie raises her eyebrows, impressed at whatever badass grandma this little girl has that comes with a badge. Not a lot of Black women that age have badges like Maggie’s.

She pulls hers out of her back pocket. “This is mine. Would you like to see it?”

She holds it out, and the girl—hesitantly, carefully—reaches out and takes it. “It looks different,” she says, finally. “Nana’s is a circle.”

Maybe her grandma’s a security guard?

“Yeah, mine is kind of pointy, huh?”

“Yeah.”

She’s still looking, but she seems to have accepted Maggie’s presence, at least for now. Maggie tries again. “Sweetheart, did you get lost?”

The girl looks up at her, her eyes suddenly filling with tears. Her lip trembles. She nods, once, twice, three times. “Yeah.” She’s tiny, pitiful. Maggie wants to scoop her up, but she holds herself back.

“Okay. It’s gonna be okay. I’m gonna help you, alright? I’ll help you find your grown up.”

The girl nods, clutching Maggie’s badge to her chest like a stuffed animal.

“Who did you come here with?” Maggie’s always hesitant to ask about moms or dads specifically, so she likes to try like this first.

But the girl says something that sounds like, “Unkawin.” Maggie asks her to repeat herself, but she just says it again. “Unkawin.”

“What…what does Unkawin look like?”

The girl shrugs. “I don’t know.”

Fucking three-year-olds. Sending a prayer of forgiveness to the gender identity deities, she starts asking questions. “Is Unkawin a boy or a girl?”

The girl giggles. “A boy!”

Okay. With a pronoun, Maggie can stop saying this nonsense word. “What color is his hair? Dark like ours, or more yellow?”

“Dark like yours.”

“What about his skin? Is it like yours, like mine, or lighter than mine?”

“Lighter. Like nana’s.”

Which means maybe the security guard grandma is white. That makes a bit more sense? But so, okay. Maggie’s looking for a white guy with dark hair. Great. Very distinctive.

Time to change tactics. “Where did you last see him?”

This, though, distresses the girl. “I don’t know,” she wails, ready to cry again. “I just got lost!”

This time Maggie lets herself reach out to soothe the girl, who collapses in her arms. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay, sweetheart. We’ll find him. Will you come with me? We can find him together.”

And, fear of strangers a thing of the past, the girl nods her head and wraps her arms around Maggie’s neck. Maggie slowly unfolds herself, rising to her feet and settling the girl comfortably against her hip. She’s surprisingly heavy, like most kids her age. The mall isn’t too crowded anymore, since it’s so near to closing.

Maybe finding Unkawin won’t be too hard. Although, asking a strange white man _excuse me, are you unkawin_ is going to be quite embarrassing.

She starts walking towards the middle the mall. She’s pretty sure there’s a security stand there, and she’s hoping they can make an announcement.

But before she’s gone more than ten steps, the girl sniffling in her arms, still clutching her badge, she hears a frantic shout from around the corner.

“ALURA!” It’s a woman’s voice, high and terrified. It’s cracking, and she’s calling for someone.

“ALURA! ALURA! WHERE ARE YOU??”

The girl in Maggie’s arms starts kicking, flailing to get down. Maggie’s reluctant—she said she came here with a man—but before she can make up her mind, a woman slides around the corner, clearly taking the mall at a dead run.

“ALU—” She skids to a stop, and three things happen all at once:

  1. The girl kicks out of Maggie’s arms, landing on the floor in a supernaturally graceful way, and sprints towards the woman.



  1. Maggie’s badge falls to the ground, forgotten.



  1. And the woman pulls out a gun and points it directly at Maggie’s head.



Maggie fights her instincts to reach for her own weapon, choosing instead to raise both hands in surrender. “Whoa,” she says, using all of her de-escalation skills honed from years of refusal to fire her weapon on the front lines. “Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay. It’s okay.”

The woman reaches down, scooping the girl up with one effortless arm. She holds the child on her left side, angling her away from Maggie. Her gun is in her right hand, unwavering. “What the hell were you doing with my kid,” she snarls.

She’s tall and white, with dark hair cropped to her chin. She’s wearing jeans and a leather jacket, and somehow it looks like a uniform on her.

She looks incredibly comfortable with the gun, and she moves smoothly, like a panther.

Maggie keeps her hands in the air. “I’m a police officer. My name is Maggie Sawyer. I found her, hiding. Lost. I was taking her to the security desk to make an announcement.”

“Badge,” she barks.

Maggie’s about to tell her that it’s on the ground between them, but the girl pipes up first. “I saw it, Nana,” she chirps. “It’s more pointy than yours.”

Maggie blinks. This is Nana? This…cannot be grandmother, can it? The woman can’t be more than thirty, and it’s biologically possible, but not super likely. Maybe the kid has two moms, and picked a random set of syllables for this mom?

“It’s on the ground,” Maggie says softly, nodding towards it. “She was holding it, and she dropped it. I can pick it up and show you, if you want.”

The woman nods, curt and serious, and Maggie wonders if she’s military. She’s standing _really_ straight.

She moves slowly, keeping one hand up as she lowers the other to pick up the badge. She flips it open, holding it up to the woman, still at least five feet away from her. The woman looks at it closely before nodding.

Her body positively deflates. She lets out a huge breath, dropping the gun down and tucking it back into her waistband. Maggie makes a little sound at that—the girl could grab it from there—but the woman shifts the girl to her front, setting her down on the ground and crouching in front of her.

“Alura,” she says, and now her voice is entirely different. Soft and loving, kind and gentle. Forgiving. Not at all like she wants to shoot a stranger in broad daylight. “Honey, what happened? Where’s Uncle Winn?”

Maggie can’t help but laugh. The woman looks up at her, confused, and Maggie can’t help that her hands fly up in surrender again. “Sorry,” she manages. “She just told me she was here with someone named Unkawin, and I couldn’t figure out what words that could be.”

The woman, for the first time, smiles.

Fuck, she’s…very pretty.

“I get that. Uncle Winslow. He’s a good friend. Although,” she turns back to her daughter, smoothing her shirt down and changing to a lighter tone, almost like baby talk, “Now he’s dead meat, huh, baby?”

Maggie laughs again.

The woman stands again, keeping a hand on her kid. “Thank you, for helping her.”

Maggie nods. “No problem.”

“Maggie,” Alura says, slipping her hand into her mom’s. “Will you get ice cream with us?” She’s legitimately batting her eyelashes, and Maggie can’t help but laugh.

“Oh,” the woman says, raising her eyebrows. “Are we getting ice cream?”

“Yes,” Alura says seriously. “I got lost and very sad. I think I _need_ ice cream, Nana.”

The woman rolls her eyes, but Maggie can tell she’s about to say yes when a man rounds the same corner she’d come from. He’s white with brown hair and he’s frantic, and Maggie knows instantly this is Uncle Winn.

“ALU—oh, thank god! Alura!”

He rushes up, but the woman pushes Alura back, just a hair.

He blanches, his hands suddenly twitching at his side, awkward in his sudden stillness. “Uh, Alex. Hi.”

She cocks her head, and Maggie’s pretty sure she’d like to murder him. “Hello Winslow.”

“You found her.”

“Eventually.” Her voice is clipped and cool again, and even Maggie can tell that he’s in big time trouble.

“I’m so sorry, she was right there, and then she just—she’s so fast, Alex, you know that, and I—”

“Should have been watching her.” Alex is snarling now. “If you know how fast she is, you should be fucking watching her, Winn.”

“I’m sorry—”

“Go home.”

“Alex—”

“Go home.”

He runs a nervous hand through his hair. “Are you going to tell Kara?”

Maybe that’s the other mom?

Alex looks like her patience has well and truly run out. “Am I going to tell Kara? Am I going to tell Alura’s _mom_ that you lost her daughter? Again? Am I going to tell your very best friend in the world that you let her precious only child wander away, _again_ , and only through the grace of god was she saved before something horrible happened to her?”

Winn is shrinking back, but Alex isn’t done.

“Yeah, Winn. I’m going to fucking tell Kara.”

“I’m sorry,” he tries, but she’s not having it.

“Go home, Winn. I mean it.”

He offers a half-hearted goodbye to Alura, and he slinks away.

Alura crosses her arms over her chest and pouts. “Nana, Mommy says you’re s’posed to use your nice voice with Uncle Winn.”

But Alex isn’t cowed by the cutest pout Maggie’s ever seen. “I know, pumpkin. But he lost you, and that’s a very bad thing. It was his job to take care of you, and he messed up. It’s okay to be mad at someone when they do something like that.”

“Will you say sorry?”

“Probably not.”

Maggie laughs again, and they both seem to realize that she’s still there.

“Can we get ice cream now, Nana? Please?”

Alex lets out a huge breath. Her kid was missing, and she almost shot a stranger before verbally filleting someone who is either a close friend or an actual brother. She definitely deserves ice cream.

“Yeah, Lulu. Let’s get ice cream.” She scoops Alura up again, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead. Alura nestles in, and Maggie feels something horrible slither up into her stomach.

Moms, man.

Alex takes two or three steps before turning back, looking confused. “You coming?”

Maggie almost got shot at, and nothing says useless lesbian like pining over a beautiful woman who is clearly happily partnered, and her adorable child.

She could use some ice cream.

“Sure.”

* * *

The one ice cream place still open is a coldstone’s. Alura spends a long time deciding what to get, finally choosing what sounds like an absolutely disgusting combination of bubblegum ice cream with rainbow sprinkles and gummy bears.

Alex gets coffee ice cream with oreo chunks, and Maggie goes for a raspberry sorbet with chocolate sprinkles.

They take over a small table, and Alura busies herself with the hard work of eating a bowl of ice cream as big as her head.

“Don’t tell your mom I let you ruin your dinner,” Alex says, but Alura’s far beyond hearing her.

“Is her other mom the stickler?” Maggie can’t imagine anyone being more of a hardass than Alex, who pulled a gun on her without a second’s thought, but she figures it’s an innocuous question.

Alex, though, shakes her head. “No, I’m—” she swallows a bite of ice cream. “Sorry, no, she just has the one mom. I’m her aunt.”

Maggie rewinds and replays everything she’s said before. “Oh, sorry, I thought you’d called her your daughter. My mistake.”

Alex shrugs. “It happens all the time. I call her my kid, so, it’s understandable.”

Maggie hums like she gets it, but that’s super fucking confusing.

“I know, it’s stupid.” Alex is smiling a little, and she has a piece of oreo in her teeth, and she’s quite possibly the best looking woman Maggie’s ever seen. “My sister is a single mom—I mean, Alura’s dad is a good friend, and he visits sometimes, but he’s not really a parent. Kara wanted a kid, and James offered to help her out. But kids grow up better with two parents, and Kara’s single, so…” Alex shrugs, taking another small spoonful of ice cream. “For the time being, at least, I live with them, and I’m basically her second parent. But I’m always careful about it—Kara’s her mom. I’m just her super special aunt.”

“Super duper special,” Alura agrees, her face coated in the sickly pink ice cream. “I’m the only kid at school who has an aunt who lives upstairs from them.” She’s bragging, and Maggie can’t help but think how fortunate this kid is, to have so many people pulling for her.

“You’re really lucky,” Maggie says, and Alura nods seriously before returning all of her attention her rapidly melting ice cream/soup/outfit.

“Thank you for finding her.” Alex’s voice is soft and caring, like when she talks to Alura. It makes Maggie’s insides do something crazy.

“Anytime.”


	2. Chapter 2

Two days later, and Maggie’s in the middle of shoving a sandwich in her face while she clicks through a case file on her computer. The bullpen is loud and smelly, like always.

Reynolds, a guy who sits near the front door comes up to her, rapping his knuckles on her desk to get her attention. “Sawyer. Some blonde chick is here to see you. Civilian.”

Maggie—having just jammed half the sandwich in her mouth and currently impersonating a chipmunk—looks up at him, eyes bugged out with the request to delay the blonde chick until she can breathe properly. Reynolds just laughs, though, and motions someone forward.

Maggie tries to dislocate her jaw to swallow a metric ton of caprese sandwich in an instant, but she ends up just choking a little bit, her eyes watering. The blonde chick in question politely doesn’t laugh, although she does smile pretty big. And it’s her smile that does it—familiar and friendly, looking like maybe it should be covered in a sticky pink coating.

This must be Alura’s mom.

Maggie finally manages to swallow enough that she can talk. She wipes her hand quickly on her pants—fucking olive oil—before offering it to the woman. “Maggie Sawyer.”

“Kara Danvers.” She’s got a ridiculously strong handshake, and her biceps are popping under her quaint sundress. She’s blonde and perky, and Maggie can’t help but contrast her with her sister. “I’m Alura’s mom.”

“Yeah I recognized the smile.” Maggie offers her own smile, and Kara returns it. “Here, sit.”

Kara quickly sinks down in the chair next to Maggie’s desk. “I can’t stay, I just wanted to thank you for taking care of Alura the other day.”

Maggie nods quickly. This part is always awkward. “Of course. Just doing my job.”

But Kara’s shaking her head, like Maggie had gone above and beyond in some huge way.

“She’s my whole life. I can’t thank you enough.”

Maggie holds up a hand, wishing this were over. “Really, it was no problem. She’s a great kid.”

“I’d like to have you over for dinner.”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly—”

But Kara talks over her, smooth and forceful, like a sunny thunderstorm. “ _You couldn’t possibly_ say no to the grateful mom whose life you saved, and who would very much like to feed you, because that’s how she shows love, and then her kid could give you all the things she’s drawn for you in the last few days.”

Maggie can’t help but laugh, and Kara correctly interprets that as surrender.

“What night this week are you free? For, say, 5:30? We eat early, around six, because of Alura.”

“Um,” Maggie swipes through her calendar on her phone. “Just tomorrow.”

Kara positively beams. “Perfect. Any dietary restrictions?”

“Um, I usually don’t eat meat, unless it’s fish. But I’m chill.”

Kara’s waving that away. “It’s my life goal to feed Alex vegetables, so that’s perfect.” She scribbles her address and phone number on the back of what turns out to be a very important document. “See you at 5:30!”

“Wait, what should I bring?”

But Kara just laughs at her, waving over her shoulder as she beams her way out of the bullpen.

* * *

Maggie ends up bringing flowers and a coloring book, with those twist-up crayons. Reynolds has a kid in preschool and he’s nuts for the things. She knocks on the door at 5:33, and it’s immediately yanked open, like someone was waiting right on the other side.

“ _Finally_ ,” Alura cries out, throwing herself at Maggie’s legs. “I’ve been waiting _forever_.”

Maggie laughs, bending down to pat her back. “I’m sorry I’m late!”

“Alura!” Alex is clearly trying to use her stern voice, but she’s smiling. She’s wearing soft shorts and a black tshirt, and she has a dishtowel tossed over one shoulder. She’s barefoot, her hair tucked behind her ears, her face clear of makeup. She’s relaxed and calm, and Maggie wants her with a throbbing pain in her chest.

She’s absolutely breathtaking.

“You know the rules about opening the door.”

“I knew it was her! I could hear her!”

Maggie hadn’t said anything as she’d been walking up, but the girl had been fucking _floating_ behind that kiosk, so. Alien hearing certainly isn’t out of the question.

Alex rolls her eyes, but lets Alura get away with it. So, neither of them is the stickler, then.

Maggie offers her the flowers, feeling heat come to her cheeks, like she’s a sophomore picking up her date to the formal.

“Oh, you shouldn’t have,” Alex says, but she’s already reaching for them, a brilliant smile on her face.

“Thank you for having me over.” Maggie can feel herself blushing, and she quickly busies herself with pulling the coloring book and crayons out of her bag.

“Um, I brought these for Alura, if that’s okay.”

Alex’s face softens even more, which Maggie hadn’t thought was possible.

Maggie feels a twist in her stomach that she decides to interpret as nerves about the gift, not attraction. “I hope they’re okay?”

Alex’s smile is reassuring and something verging way too close to intimate. “She’s going to love them.” She’s leaning close, almost conspiratorial, and Maggie can almost smell her skin.

“Hey, Lulu, look what Maggie brought you!”

Alura takes the book and crayons in both hands, squealing with happiness. “Mommy,” she calls, sprinting towards what must be the kitchen. “Mommy look! Presents!”

Maggie can hear an affirming rumble, lilting like a question. Whatever it was sends Alura skidding back into the foyer, her little afro bouncing with her leaping steps. “THANKYOU,” she screeches as she runs right past them into the living room. She promptly flings herself down on the rug, pulling open the crayon container and beginning the serious work of deciding which animal to color first.

Alex invites Maggie to set down her bag and jacket before leading her into the kitchen. Kara’s stirring something that smells delicious—garlic, onion, and tomato—and she beams when Maggie walks in. Maggie wonders if she ever stops smiling.

“Hi Maggie!” She’s pure sunlight, and she’s very familiar. Maybe it’s not just that Alura has her smile. Something about her is tingling the back of Maggie’s mind, but she’s a bit distracted by Kara’s extremely hot sister.

“Hey, Kara. Thanks for having me over.”

“Of course!” Kara waves her concern away, and Maggie narrows her eyes, trying to detect.

“Maggie brought us flowers,” Alex offers, walking to a cabinet and pulling out a vase.

Kara gushes about them, but she’s giving both of them a slightly calculating look, and Maggie straightens up, trying to seem a little less hopelessly gay.

They make small talk until dinner’s ready—Kara’s a reporter, Alex is FBI which definitely doesn’t seem right, Alura’s in preschool. They refuse to let Maggie help, and it isn’t until Kara forgets to use a potholder, absently shaking the pan of garlic bread in the oven with her bare hand, that it all clicks.

Well shit. Supergirl has a very cute, definitely biracial, at least half-alien preschooler. And her sister is literally out of this world hot.

Good to know.

Alura has to be called four times and threatened with “consequences” before she leaves her coloring and comes to the table. The dinner is simple, and smells delicious. Spaghetti with roasted broccoli and homemade red sauce, salad, and absolutely heavenly garlic bread.

Alura’s given the option of salad or extra broccoli, and she picks the broccoli with an air of disdain that would better serve a queen. Maggie hides a laugh behind her hand, and Alex kicks her softly under the table.

It’s not quite footsie, but she’ll take it.

Alura’s halfway through pretending to eat her broccoli when she looks up at Maggie, fixes her with a laser stare, and asks the question that every single fucking kid in the world loves to ask. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

Alex chokes. Kara quickly reminds Alura that it’s not polite to ask that question, but Maggie shakes them both off, smiling down at Alura. She’d punch an adult for asking, or at least aggressively roll her eyes at them, but Alura can be forgiven. She’s _really_ cute. “No, sweetie, I don’t.”

Alura blinks at her, like she can’t fathom why not. _Yeah, you and my parents both, kid_.

She does what every kid does next. “A husband?”

Maggie pops a cherry tomato in her mouth. “Nope.”

“Why not?”

“ _Alura_.” Kara’s voice is sterner, now. More like steel perhaps.

Maggie quickly calculates the risks in her mind. She doesn’t really know these people. Worst case, she leaves and doesn’t come back. Best case, a kid learns a new way a person can be. The math checks out.

“Well, I don’t have a boyfriend or a husband, because I don’t like boys. I like girls. So if I were going to date someone, I would have a girlfriend, or a wife.”

She expects silence at the table, but instead Alura looks excited. “Me and Nana don’t like boys either,” she says, completely matter of fact.

“Alura,” Kara tries again, but Alex is just rolling her eyes.

“Sorry,” she says to Maggie, long suffering and resigned.

Maggie smiles forgiveness at her, but she can’t help the question in her gaze. Alura probably means that she doesn’t like to play with boys at preschool, but what exactly was she trying to say about Alex?

Alex shrugs a little. “I had a girlfriend for a minute last year, and Lu got super excited about telling everyone at school that her aunt is a lesbian.” She rolls her eyes again. “It was a great month.”

Maggie can’t help it. She cackles, and Alex faux punches her.

“No violence at the dinner table,” Kara says wearily, like she doesn’t expect to be listened to.

Maggie holds her hands up in surrender, and Alex mutters something about being provoked by toddlers, and Maggie can’t help but laugh again.

* * *

Somehow, Maggie’s still there when it’s time for Alura to go to bed. The kid and Kara disappear for a bit while Maggie and Alex are doing the dishes—Maggie had to threaten gun violence to be allowed to help—and Alura comes back in the cutest set of dinosaur jammies Maggie’s ever seen. She sits up at the kitchen table while Kara works moisturizer into her hair, babbling about something that happened at preschool that Maggie can’t follow at all. Alex is making affirming sounds whenever Alura pauses for reassurance; Maggie sends her questioning look after one, and Alex raises her eyebrows and shrugs back, a clear _fuck if I know_.

Maggie tries not to snort.

Hair cared for, Kara carries Alura over to Alex, and Alura gives Alex what seems like a very wet goodnight kiss. She blows a kiss over to Maggie, who positively melts as she gives one back. “Goodnight, Alura.”

“G’night Maggie!”

Kara whispers something in her ear, and Alura nods. “Thank you for my coloring!” she chirps over her shoulder as Kara starts walking her down the hallway towards where her bedroom must be.

Alex wipes her hands on a dishtowel before opening the fridge. “Wine, beer, or scotch?”

Maggie had been about to take her leave, but a pretty woman—apparently queer, possibly single, very very very hot—is offering her an excuse to stay.

“Normally I’d say beer, but I think I’ve had enough bread for one evening.”

Alex snorts, politely not mentioning the way Maggie had housed three servings of the garlic bread. “Yeah, hope you’re not watching your carbs. Kara makes that pretty impossible.”

“No, it was delicious. But, uh, wine sounds great.”

Alex nods, pulling a bottle of red out of a cabinet and pouring two generous glasses. She hands one to Maggie and, off handedly, like it’s nothing, propositions her for sex.

“Let’s go upstairs.”

Maggie chokes on her first sip of wine. It almost dribbles out of her mouth, and her eyes water as she swallows instead of spitting, the alcohol burning down her throat. “What?” she squeaks, not at all like an experienced, sexually active, adult lesbian.

Alex blinks for a second before the brightest blush Maggie’s ever seen rushes across her face. It lights up her cheeks, growing across her chest and swirling up her neck. “Oh my god.” She clamps a hand over her mouth, and her eyes are bugging out, and she’s clearly horrified.

She’s still—or possibly even more—so fucking pretty.

“Oh my GOD, no. I’m so sorry. There’s another living room upstairs, and it’s further from Alura’s room, so I usually hang out up there while she’s trying to sleep. Shit. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—”

But she’s flushing again, and Maggie’s a bit too gay to handle Alex saying out loud what it had sounded like, so she just waves it off. “No. Yeah. Great. Let’s…upstairs.”

Alex leads the way, the back of her neck still a brilliant red.

Her ass looks fantastic in her shorts. Maggie tries not to spill her wine.

Upstairs is like a whole other house. There’s a door at the top of the stairs that opens to reveal a full living room with what looks like a wet bar and microwave in the corner, and several doors leading off of it. Alex sits down on the couch, wedging herself into the corner, clearly still embarrassed.

“This is awesome,” Maggie says, trying to put her at ease.

“Yeah, I love it up here. It was, um…when I agreed to move in with Kara, and sort of co-parent, my condition was that I have my own space. Downstairs, I’m Alura’s parent, but up here, I’m more like a roommate. Available if needed, but this is my space.” Alex is babbling, her blush refusing to fade, and Maggie wants to rip the clothes off her with her teeth. “So I’ve got an office, and my, um—” even redder “bedroom, and a bathroom.”

“It’s great. Better than most apartments I’ve ever lived in.”

Alex laughs, a bit too loud.

Maggie tries to distract her, desperately asking if she’s seen any good tv shows lately, like an idiot. Alex helpfully goes on a long tangent about Kara’s obsession with 90 Day Fiancée, which seems to help her relax. By the time Kara comes upstairs, her own glass of wine in hand, Alex’s blush has almost completely faded.

Kara pauses for just a second, clearly taking the fact that they’re sitting weirdly far apart on the couch, before settling on the armchair. They all talk about nothing, and it’s extraordinarily pleasant. Kara’s kind and funny, with a sharp wit and drier sense of humor than Maggie would have expected from the national beacon of light and hope.

She’s shockingly normal, and it’s definitely not the first time Maggie’s drunk wine and shot the shit with an alien, but it’s her first time with an honest to goodness superhero, and it’s a little trippy.

And Alex is…perfect. She’s sarcastic, and snarky, but she clearly loves Kara and Alura so impossibly hard. She’s also definitely not an FBI agent—Maggie thinks maybe DEO, judging from the weird gun she’d had at the mall and how her sister is fucking Supergirl—and Maggie can’t tell if she’s human or alien. But, either way, she’s absolutely brilliant, funny, easy to talk to, and drop-dead gorgeous.

Maggie doesn’t stand a fucking chance. It’s been one evening and she’s a complete and utter goner.

* * *

“Why does Alura call you Nana?”

“We were trying to get her to say ‘Aunt Alex’ when she was first babbling as a baby, but she kept getting stuck on the first syllable,” Alex says, a little ruefully. “Aunt Al sort of became Ana, and she’d say it over and over. Ana, ana, ana. And eventually that morphed into Nana.” She shrugs. “Kids are weird.”

“When she mentioned you at the mall, I definitely thought you were gonna be a Black grandma,” Maggie admits, and both Alex and Kara nearly choke on their wine.

“Sorry to disappoint,” Alex murmurs over her glass of wine. Her eyes are dark, and Maggie’s never been less disappointed in anything.

* * *

It’s after ten by the time Maggie leaves, and that’s only because Alex was failing to stifle her yawns behind her hand. Kara had gone to bed half an hour before, but Alex had insisted that Maggie stay for another glass of wine, so she did.

After she’d poured for them both, Alex had sat down a little closer to Maggie. Not so wedged into her corner anymore. There had still been a clear foot of space between them, but Maggie’s skin had been humming.

Alex hadn’t made a move, though, and Maggie’s an absolute coward, so she lets Alex walk her down to the front door without finding out what Alex’s lips would feel like under her own.

Alex does, shyly, ask Maggie for her phone number. She’s leaning against the doorframe, and the night air is chilly on Maggie’s flushed cheeks. “In case Alura wants to show you the coloring she does,” Alex says, and Maggie hopes it’s an excuse.

She inputs her number to Alex’s phone, letting their fingers brush as she hands it back.

Alex takes a deep breath, like she’s considering going in for a goodnight hug, but she doesn’t.

She just says goodnight, her voice quiet, her eyes tender and soft.

Maggie leaves, feeling both elated and very, very disappointed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading, beautiful people. please remember to wear a mask, stay home when you can, vote if you're able, and fight for Black lives. <3 you

It’s three days before the first text. It’s from an unknown number, and it’s just a picture of a page from a coloring book, featuring a penguin that’s been scribbled on by what looks like every color of crayon in the world.

Just as Maggie’s squinting at it, another text comes through: “ ** _For Maggie love Alura please come for dinner again so maybe we can eat ice cream with sprinkles and stay up late.”_**

Maggie laughs—Alura is absolutely a manipulative mastermind for sugar, like most kids she’s met—but Maggie’s not sure if it’s a real invitation or not. She finally settles on ‘loving’ the image and sending some emojis back. The crying-laughing faces, and the ice cream emoji.

Alex—she assumes it must be Alex—‘loves’ her emojis, but doesn’t say anything else.

* * *

The drawings keep coming, always with verbatim comments that shine a light for Maggie on how weird preschooler brains are. And then about two weeks after dinner, Alex finally sends a selfie of her with Alura on her lap. They’re both beaming at the camera, and Maggie feels her heart catch in her throat.

Alex is so fucking pretty.

**_Back at the scene of the crime!_** the text says. Maggie squints at the background, and finally makes out that they’re at the mall where Maggie’d first met them.

**_Don’t let her out of your sight!_** She texts back. **_I don’t know if you heard, but she’s fast._** Super fast, apparently. It explains how Winn had lost her so easily, anyway.

She can practically hear Alex rolling her eyes as she types back. **_Trust me, I won’t. She already tried, ‘if I get lost again, can we get ice cream?’_**

Maggie barks out a laugh. **_She DIDN’T_**.

**_SHE DID_ **

**_She knows you’re a sucker_ **

**_Excuse me I’m an absolute hardass_ **

****

**_I’ll believe you’re a hardass when I see it, miss ‘slip some of your broccoli onto my plate while your mom isn’t looking and I’ll eat it for you so you can get dessert’_ **

****

**_…Are you asking to see my ass, detective?_ **

Maggie gulps. That—that’s flirting, right? That has to be flirting. No one says _detective_ like that if they’re not flirting. Do they?

Fuck.

What can she possibly say to that? Yes, please, god? I mean yeah but only if you’re into it and also by the way are you into it? Hahahaha no? Yes or maybe I’m joking in case it lands badly?

Maggie takes a deep breath, and reminds herself that she’s an experienced, sexually active, adult lesbian, who has, in the past, been known to have game. She tries to forget that Alex is the prettiest, smartest, most interesting woman she’s ever met, and she types out what she’d say to a girl from tinder.

**_Nah_ **

**_If I’m trying to get a girl out of her pants, I’ve got better moves than that_ **

There’s a long pause. A horrible, brain-eating, spine-tingling, heart-wrenching pause. And then, just when Maggie’s strongly considering changing her phone number and—for good measure—moving to Antarctica and becoming a penguin scientist, her phone buzzes.

**_Oh, really? Like what?_ **

Fuck. Fuck! Fuck??

Well, like not texting her moves to a hot girl who is out with her three-year-old niece at a mall, for starters.

She pulls her heart out of her chest, and types it into her phone.

**_You’ll see_ **

* * *

But it turns out that it’s Alex who makes the next move.

She texts a few days later, saying that Kara was sent to Metropolis for work—Maggie wonders for which job—and would Maggie like to come over and keep her company after Alura goes to sleep?

And the answer to that is a very definite yes.

So Maggie puts on her tightest jeans and her favorite leather jacket and her white button-down shirt. She makes sure that her hair is extra shiny and falling nicely down her back, and spends a few more minutes with her eyeliner than usual. She has on her good underwear, just in case.

She texts outside the front door, not wanting to knock or ring the bell in case it would wake up Alura.

Alex opens the door just a moment later. She’s wearing a loosely knit green sweater and skinny jeans, and she looks fucking incredible. Something about her eye makeup is making her eyes look even bigger and softer than before, and Maggie just wants to forget the rest of the dance and pull her in for a kiss right here.

But the dance matters. She lets Alex invite her inside, and take her jacket, and offer her a drink, and invite her upstairs in the less-fun way. She lets Alex ask her about work, and make small talk about Kara and Alura for half an hour.

Once they’ve each finished their first drink, but before Alex can offer a second, Maggie changes the rhythm, smoothly taking the lead.

They’re facing each other on the couch, and Alex’s right leg is tucked under her, her body turned towards Maggie. Maggie always talks with her hands, and after one particularly big gesticulation, she lets her hand drop not back onto the couch between them, but onto Alex’s knee.

Alex blinks, but she doesn’t say anything.

Maggie leaves her hand where it is, gently rubbing up and down with her thumb. She keeps her touch soft but not so light that it could tickle.

Alex seems completely distracted. She loses her train of thought twice, and Maggie bites in the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.

The blush is back, spreading across Alex’s chest like wildfire. Her sweater has big gaps between the stitches, and Maggie can see enticing flashes of her chest—speckled with freckles and flushed a gently nervous pink.

After a few minutes Alex seems to acclimate enough to finish all of her sentences, so Maggie increases the rhythm of the dance again. She leaves her right hand on Alex’s knee, and slowly reaches up with her left, tucking Alex’s hair back behind her ear. She lets her fingers linger on the soft brown strands, and Alex sucks in a sharp breath.

“Are these the famous moves?” Her voice is a little strangled, and Maggie takes that as a compliment.

“Some of them,” she says, unable to keep the grin off her face.

Alex swallows, hard.

“They working?”

Alex licks her lips, staring right at Maggie’s. It seems like a full minute before she can talk. The air is thick with the tension of it, and Maggie wants to just drink her in.

“Yeah.”

But her knee is trembling a little under Maggie’s hand, and she’s breathing a little high in her chest. Maggie decides to slow the dance down for a while.

“Want to watch something?”

Alex laughs—awkward and wanting—but agrees. They turn towards the tv, Maggie’s hand slipping off Alex’s knee. They watch an old episode of Bob’s Burgers, laughing in all the same places.

Maggie shifts a little closer. Alex is sitting with her right leg crossed over the left now, her hands stiffly in her lap. Maggie can feel the air between them vibrating, and she lets it simmer until the second episode starts to autoplay.

After the theme song on the second episode, she turns it up to a gentle boil, starting the dance anew. She gently slips her hand under Alex’s arm, reaching forward to slide her palm against Alex’s. Alex freezes, and Maggie’s about to pull her hand back and apologize, but then Alex’s fingers are grasping hers with a desperation that belies her carefully blank face.

Maggie smiles, and turns her attention to Gene Belcher.

After a few minutes, she brings her other hand over, trailing the tips of the fingers along the sensitive flesh of Alex’s wrist, up and down, almost to her elbow.

Alex is shuddering under her hands, nearly melting into her. She’s leaning now, her torso keening into Maggie’s.

The second episode ends, and Maggie would swear under oath that has no idea what happened in it. All she noticed was the way Alex’s hair falls against her neck, the way her cheeks flush a beautiful pink, the tiny rope of scar tissue she can feel just below her elbow, the calluses on her palm, the softness of her wrist, the sound of her sharp breaths, the way her chest rises and falls.

A third episode starts to play, but Alex stops it. She turns off the tv, shifting to face Maggie.

Girl has moves of her own.

“Maggie,” she says. Her eyes are dark, her lips heavy. The air is roiling between them, syrup and desire.

Maggie hums, tilting her head, flashing a dimple. It’s her best move.

It works.

“Kiss me,” Alex breathes, tugging a little on Maggie’s hand.

And Maggie’s not one to leave a woman waiting.

She shifts closer, and changes the dance one last time.

She kisses Alex, and the air explodes.

* * *

Maggie’s woken up by an assault on her stomach. Something heavy and pointy is jutting into her intestines, and it takes her an embarrassingly long time to realize—in the absolute darkness—that she’s in Alex’s bed, and that the sharp object is the knee of one Alura Danvers.

“Oof,” Alex grunts, clearly being assaulted by others of Alura’s body parts. “Kid, that’s my spleen.”

Alura giggles, surprisingly awake for whatever the fuck time it is. Alex’s blackout curtains are no joke.

“A-lu-lu, it’s too early,” Alex groans, but Alura just climbs on top of her.

“No, it starts with a five. Mommy says once it starts with a five, I can get in her bed.”

“Her bed’s downstairs,” Alex grunts, but she’s wrapping her arms around Alura anyway, pulling her down into a comfortable position on Alex’s other side.

“Why is Maggie sleeping here?”

Maggie stiffens, but Alex doesn’t flinch for a second. “Because we wanted to have a sleepover,” she says, like it’s nothing. Maggie lets out a big breath.

Alex’s hand finds her hip under the covers. She squeezes once—reassuring and present, and Maggie relaxes back into her pillow.

“Why aren’t you wearing jammies?”

Maggie chokes on a laugh. She can hear Alex grinning in the darkness. “We didn’t feel like it,” she says simply, and Alura seems satisfied.

She grumbles a little bit and, from the sounds of it, kicks Alex in the spleen a few more times, but then she falls back asleep, tucked into Alex’s side like an adorable barnacle.

Maggie hisses her question into the darkness. “Should I go?”

Alex can’t move without disturbing Alura, but her hand finds Maggie’s under the covers with troubling accuracy, like they’ve been sharing a bed for years. “Fuck no,” she says, just as matter-of-factly. “Stay. I’ll make you pancakes.”

“It won’t freak her out?”

“Funny thing about kids,” Alex says, her leg coming to lay heavily over Maggie’s, symbolically holding her in place. “They only freak out about things we freak out about. And like, snails.”

Maggie laughs loudly enough that Alura grumbles into Alex’s armpit. Alex kicks Maggie, hushing her with a stifled laugh of her own.

“Go back to sleep, smooth operator.”

And Maggie does.

In the morning, Alex makes them both blueberry pancakes.

Maggie doesn’t go home for three days.

* * *

She moves into the upstairs less than a year later. Alura, and, later, her younger sister Astra, introduce her to their friends and teachers as Aunt Maggie. Alex introduces Maggie as her wife.


End file.
